Petrichor
by ElectricFlowerChildren
Summary: "These things, individually, don't make much sense to me, but I'm telling you that all together I could fall in love with you." Dramione one-shot, have at it.


**Disclaimer: **You know it, I know it, we all know it. I'm only playing around with my favorite characters.

It was always the worst for her in the wintertime. The earth was dead, no sunlight streamed through the dark clouds overhead and worst of all, Hermione had to make her annual trip to Draco Malfoy.

Three years ago, after the war, Draco Malfoy had given up his family's manor. He gave no reason, not that Hermione cared, but since her internship-turned-permanent job with the Ministry specialized in wizarding-affairs, an unfortunate run in had occurred.

Hermione was responsible for filling Malfoy in on the happenings of the Manor. It still hadn't been sold, but over the years he had put up a lot of the furniture for auction. Hermione had to hand the checks over to the sour blond who refused to show at the actual events.

Once a year wasn't too bad and since the items were almost all (surprisingly successful, considering the name that they carried) gone and in new homes, she doubted that she would be seeing him much after this visit.

In front of her bathroom mirror, Hermione glanced at her appearance. During their last visit, Malfoy had assured her that she hadn't changed a bit since school, and that was a shame on her part.

"You have _truly_ awful hair." He snapped as he grabbed the check in her hands.

It wasn't a good visit. All around, it hadn't been a good year and she was glad that the new one was approaching in a week.

"And it appears that I still haven't improved any." She sighed, tugging on her hair, which she kept neatly trimmed to right below her breasts. Her curls, while stile there, were not _as _frizzy as they had been back in her youth. She still retained her slender figure, but her stomach had rounded out a little, giving her an air of being soft and gentle.

She stood; gazing at her mirrored image, frustrated and…the clock on the wall behind her seemed to frown because she was now late.

Hermione ran into her room and opened her wardrobe. Much as she'd like to show up looking stunning and leave Malfoy speechless, just so he couldn't make any rude comments this time, there was nothing "wow worthy" in her possessions. With a hint of resign, she pulled a black knee length skirt out and a deep green button up.

After pulling them on she thought of the manor and whirled into darkness.

**ooo**

It seemed to Draco Malfoy, that Hermione Granger was trying very hard to drive him insane. She had been rapping on his apartment door for five minutes straight, despite the fact that he had ignored it completely.

Now the rapping was drilling into his skull and he could barely take it anymore. If Granger had made that abominating sound on Voldemort's head, there wouldn't have been a war. He would have surrendered immediately.

And now it looked like he would have to do the same.

"Alright, you impossible wench." He stood and walked to the door, pulling it open before her knuckle could get one last tap.

"Malfoy." She said firmly, pulling down on her skirt. As if it didn't already hide enough of her knobby knees with it's medieval length.

"Please." He said, his eyes carrying no emotion but pure boredom. He dreaded these meetings so much. "Come in." and let out his arm with a dramatic sweeping gesture.

She trotted in and Draco shut the door as quietly as his rising rage would let him. Just having her in his house was torture; even more so than the door knocking.

Before he could pretend to care enough to offer her a seat, she was sitting at the table in his living/dining room. Really it was also the area with a kitchen. He wasn't proud of the size of his flat, but it was his freedom. The money his parents left him and the money he made from selling their belongings, as well as the manor in the future was in a separate vault, for emergencies only. The money that he had that he used to pay for his food, flat, clothes and anything else he wanted or needed, he earned at a job.

He loathed it. He was no more than a bank teller at Gringots, working alongside Goblins and other unmentionables. But his father had left him out of favor with the Ministry, and he was paid well. Well enough, that is.

Not as much as the check that was hidden somewhere in Granger's bag. That would probably have more than he made in several months.

"Aren't you going to offer me tea?"

"Do bloodsuckers need liquids to survive?"

"Ha." She sat very still, not actually smiling or even frowning. Just looking at him, expecting and waiting for compliance.

"Fine." He groaned.

Resisting the urge to stomp like a child, he moved into his kitchen area and slammed a kettle of water over the fire.

"So do you want to know how much you made this time?"

She had followed him into the kitchen area. It's not like the rooms were separate, so why couldn't she just stay where she was?

"I'm sure it'll be even to or more than last year." He focused on the kettle of now boiling water. He pulled it off and poured some into a cup he had filled with "Orange-Lemon".

"My favorite." She said, bringing the cup up to her nose.

He looked over and saw that she was smiling a little, one corner of her lips brought up in a soft tug.

"Well, I'm not a complete monster." He answered. "And I have an excellent memory."

She took a sip and walked away, sitting back down at the table.

"Your place is very neat." She offered, setting her cup down.

"Did you expect something else? Crushed drugs on the table, perhaps?"

She smirked and pulled an envelope out of her purse.

"This is what you want, right? Here." She handed it over. "Now, if you'll _attempt_ to keep your smart remarks to yourself, we can discuss the state of the manor."

But a feeling of impending dread filled him and suddenly he would rather curl up in bed with that mangy cat of Granger's than talk about his parent's house.

"Right." He touched his hand to his lips. "Did I tell you I like your hair?"

She looked up sharply, her eyes flickering with anger.

"Really."

"Yes." He pulled his lips up in a smile, hoping it didn't come across as a grimace. "It's very…I like the length." He coughed.

"That's it." She stood up and grabbed her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. "You have your money, call Jeff in my office if you want more information about…whatever. See you next year."

She stormed to the door and grabbed the handle. In her anger, she pulled so hard the door hit her in the face and she fell over.

"Granger!" without thinking he stood and ran over.

"Ow." She whispered, rubbing the front of her head slowly. "So much for a dramatic exit."

"Come on you silly twat." He supported her under her arms and lifted up.

They stumbled together over to his couch, which was white and impossibly clean. He hoped she didn't bleed on it, or she'd dry clean it herself.

"Thanks." She said, her face in her hands. Curls spilled between her fingers in an almost…pretty way.

_Granger is the one who hit her head, not you, _he reminded himself. He shook himself of all thoughts relating to Granger's appearance. She was a homely busybody, nothing more.

But no matter what she was, she had hit her head pretty hard and he didn't want her passing out on his couch. Then he'd have to deal with her all night and most likely next morning.

He moved quickly, going to his freezer and pulling out a bag of peas.

"Here." He said gently, handing her the frozen bag. She held it to her face, right above her eyebrow. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she mumbled, her mouth partially obscured by a mound of peas.

"For…upsetting you." The words burned in his throat. But the faster he moved in comforting her, the quicker she'd disappear. Hopefully for good.

"Uhm." She removed the bag and looked up at him. "Ok."

"Keep that on your face. Lay down."

She swung her legs up and then scooted down. Her head was at such an angle that Draco had a clear view of her neck. It was long and graceful, supported by two sharp collarbones and thin shoulders. For a moment he felt something akin to lust but it couldn't be that. He hated the bitch. He always had and always would.

"Why are you being so damn nice?"

She huffed angrily and her chest moved up and down in quick succession. There was that feeling again, a sharp pang in his heart…and groin. He moved away from her and took deep and fast breaths, willing the feeling away.

"Suppose it's just my way of saying…" he was going to vomit, but the words had to come out. "thank you."

"You're thanking me?" she sat up and turned around to look at him.

"Yes." He choked on it. It was such a vile word, thank you. It meant that you owed someone for something you didn't necessarily ask of him or her. And he didn't want to owe Granger.

"Oh. Well, you're welcome." She put the bag of peas on the table and stood up slowly. "You know, I think I'm actually feeling a little better now. I'm going to go home but…I'll come back tomorrow and discuss the manor, ok?"

_NO!_ It wasn't ok. He didn't want to give up another day of his silence for her.

"Yes. Fine."

She walked calmly to the door and left without hurting herself this time. At least he was lucky on that account.

**ooo**

"Nice lump, Hermione."

"Shut up Harry."

Hermione resisted the urge to throw her tea-cup at his face. He had stopped by for breakfast and upon seeing her face, demanded to know the story behind the sore and red lump on her face like an oversized pimple.

"It's beautiful. Really brings out your eyes."

She slammed a plate of eggs and bacon down in front of him.

"I put some of Molly's special cream on it a couple hours ago. It'll be gone by tonight."

"And just in time for your date." He tried to hide his smirk behind his cup of coffee. It was next to useless and Hermione picked up _The Daily Prophet, _whacking him on the head with it.

"It's. Not. A. Date." She turned around and disappeared into the kitchen, holding her chest and breathing with labor.

It wasn't a date. She despised Malfoy. He was nothing but rude to her and it made her beyond angry.

Except…except for when she hit her head in haste of getting away from him. There was a moment when she was taking the peas away from her face when she saw his eyes and he almost looked…normal. It was an unsettling feeling and she had left before it could develop further.

It wasn't working.

Shortly after she had showered and climbed into bed, her thoughts curled into memories of his soft tones and the cool touches. Her heart began to beat a little faster.

_What is this feeling_, she asked herself. But she wasn't sure that she wanted the answer to that. It was a feeling she had only experienced once before, the first time she saw Ron Weasley.

"And that ended so wonderfully, didn't it." She scolded herself and fell asleep.

Now she was in her kitchen, hiding from her friend who was only joking about tonight being a date, but she wasn't so sure she didn't want it to be.

Maybe it was because she _hadn't_ been on a date in such a long time. Maybe it was that her mind was confusing male contact with affection. But in the back of her head, she forced herself to remember that this was just an extension of the once a year visit that she was obligated to attend.

But that didn't mean she couldn't look nice while doing it.

** ooo**

Draco was in his kitchen, doing the absolutely unthinkable. Pieces of lettuce were being torn apart by his fingers and placed in a clear glass bowl, the sweet smell of water and grass in the air.

"Bloody Granger, turning me into a common-place _Muggle_." He muttered under his breath, starting to chop up some carrots and tomatoes, throwing them in the bowl at random.

He didn't know why he was even bothering. Truly, he wanted nothing more than for Granger to return to her prissy little apartment with her boring friends and pathetic job at the Ministry. And yet…

This morning, when he woke up and remembered that she was returning, his initial feelings of anger gave way to memories of her throat, pulsing quietly as she lay still on his couch. And now he was making her salad and Chicken Parmesan. Hell, he had even brought out the nice china.

"It's only so she'll feel welcome enough to tell me about the manor and then get the fuck out."

And so, fine, so he had dressed a little nicer than he had in the past. But it was no more than a pair of nice black slacks and a dark and deep red button down that brought out the under glow in his icy skin. It wasn't to impress her or anything…Draco assured himself that it was just how he was brought up. Dress for the best, right?

The chicken was just about finished when she walked in, not even knocking this time. He was about to say something when he turned and actually saw her. All words were instantly choked in this throat.

She was wearing a one strap black dress that was tight around her chest and fell a little looser around her hips. The color was so dark that her skin took on a lighter hue than normal. Her hair, which while curly was long enough that it rested on top of her breasts, was now long and sleek, it's thick caramel entirety falling well down her back. She had used a straightening charm on it, and he noticed that when she moved, it swished lightly, hitting her arms and causing little pieces to fly about her face. He had never been so attracted to her.

_STOP._

He shook all thoughts out of his head and concentrated on getting her to leave. He didn't know why she dressed up for something as boring as a business meeting, but it was wasted on him. It was her prerogative, really.

"Malfoy." She says cautiously and he realizes that his teeth are pressed so hard together that his face is set in a hard line.

"Granger." He acknowledges.

"I brought…" she holds out a bottle of white wine. It looks expensive. "Oh, you made dinner?"

He shrugs and takes the bottle from her hands.

"Thank you." He says and gestures to the kitchen. "I'm going to go and set everything up."

She is behind him as he goes to get wine glasses. When he goes back into the dining room, she is lighting two small candles that smell faintly of fresh flowers.

"Candles, Granger?" he raises an eyebrow. "This isn't a date."

She blushes a deep crimson and tucks some wayward hair behind her ear.

"Your apartment smells vaguely of moths and dust. Just trying to help you out."

He sets his eyes on her and glares until she looks directly at him.

"How very generous of you."

They sit down at the table and she actually pokes at the chicken a bit with her fork. He pauses and looks at her, a piece of chicken in his mouth, un-chewed.

"Are you…poisoning me?" she seems seriously worried.

"Shut up, Granger." He sneers and takes another bite of his food. How typical of a Mudblood. They're always so presumptuous; thinking every well-mannered Pureblood such as himself is out to get them. It's so unreasonable, in his opinion.

She reluctantly takes a bite and then chews thoughtfully. Her face is enjoyable to look at, he hesitantly allows his mind to think. Her skin and cheekbones are thin and he can almost see the blood moving underneath the caramel texture. Her bottom lip is a little too full for her top lip, giving her a permanent pout.

"This is good." She says, not unkindly.

"Surprised?"

"You surprise me frequently." She admits.

**ooo**

If this is a date, which it's not, then neither of them is going on a second one. It's not that it's an unsuccessful date-err, meeting- but no one seems to be saying much of anything.

She comments on the food, kindly as she can, and then they occasionally break bouts of silence with little spurts of compliments and conversation. It's a bit uncomfortable and she misses the easiness of her friendships with the Weasley's, her co-workers and even Harry.

When was the last time she had to work at anything? And why had she immediately cast off Malfoy from the moment that she was assigned to go and meet with him?

It was possible that he had changed after the war. She had seen it done with other families. But the truth was, old prejudices die hard. Sometimes people don't struggle to fight against their previous assessments of character because it's so easy to just accept people for how they're originally viewed. He never stood a chance. Not just against her, but against anyone.

"No wonder you're so mean." She whispers.

His eyelids flicker, a heavy weight on his face. He looks confused, and why shouldn't he? None of this makes any sense all of a sudden. Her, here, dressed nice and eating a well-cooked meal by the hands of someone she was supposed to hate. It felt like treason.

"I think I should go."

"You can't leave."

Her back stiffens and she holds her breath. Will he make her stay? Was that his plan all along? To trap her _here_…forever? _Quit being dramatic_, she scolds herself.

"What…what do you mean?"

His smile lights a little in the candles glow.

"Worried, Granger?" he takes a bite of his chicken and smiles again, wiping his upper lip with a paper napkin. "Don't be stupid. Like I'd take you hostage and risk having to put up with you for longer than a couple hours."

The food in front of her suddenly doesn't seem as appealing as it did when she first started eating. She had thought…she didn't know what she thought, but it wasn't that she'd be insulted all night.

"I don't have to take this twice in one year." She stands and moves for the door, stopping when she hears him chuckle into his fist. "What's so funny, _Malfoy?_"

"Storming out didn't do you so much good last time, did it?"

"Oh, fuck you." She retorts, her face burning.

"Actually…" he stands and faces her, his eyes traveling up and down her body slowly. She moves her bag in front of her chest, frowning. "Just kidding."

"I…"

"Go sit down in the other room. I'll clean up and we'll get to business."

**ooo**

He can hear her fidget around on the couch like an anxious animal he's about to feed on. Of course she has nothing to worry about, and really this is all very natural for them both. This is how they always are, but for the first time in the years she's been coming to him…in the years he's know her, in fact, this is the first time he feels bad for his behavior.

He tries his best to go back to feeling triumphant, victorious, cruel, but he can't. Instead he pulls out a bottle of his mother's best wine, the only he managed to salvage before the first auction, and two sparkling white wine glasses.

He takes them into the living room and sees Granger sitting very sternly on the couch, her arms crossed and her ankles tightly pressed together.

"Wine?" he asks in a calm voice, handing her one of the glasses.

"Oh. Thank you…" she takes the glass and holds it awkwardly in her hands.

In one swift motion, he pops the cork on the bottle, making sure none gets in the wine. He tilts and makes a "Say when" gesture as red liquid gets only halfway in the glass before she makes him stop.

"Afraid to get loose around me?" he smirks.

"I just know my limits." Her eyes focused on a spot behind his head, as if she were afraid to look at him directly.

He sat in the armchair across from her and poured himself a glass, making sure he caught her eye as he put the cork back in, his glass completely full.

"So do I." he smirked a little and he could almost hear her heart racing. Did he really make her that nervous? Unhappy?

"Right. Well, let's get on with this, shall we?"

She uncrosses her arms and places the wine glass on a small table that he also kept from the manor. It's brown, intricate designs carved into the wooden legs like a totem pole.

The feeling that he had the other night comes over him again. His throat starts to burn and he has the urge to crush the stem of the glass in his hand so hard that the whole damn thing shatters. He imagines it in his head, eyes closed. The glass would shatter, glass spilling in the air like daggers, spots of wine stabbing into the fabric of his white carpet. A shard might hit Granger in the cheek, leaving bloody tears streaking down her face.

"You did well this year. Very well, actually. The bed that you put up for auction, the one with the Slytherin serpent crossed in the front board, made 35000 pounds. Much more than you expected it to."

His eyes open and his blissful images of blood and wine are gone. His heart starts racing across his chest, blood pulsing and fingers starting to twitch in his lap.

The bed in question was his parent's bed. Reluctant as he was to put it up for sale, he had no use for it. The manor could not be sold until everything in it was gone, and there was no room or need for it in his life.

He had put it up for a starting price of 10000 pounds, though it was worth more than even it had been bought for, hoping someone would buy it and take it away forever.

And yet, he didn't want to hear about that. He didn't want to hear about any other of his parent's belongings being sold either. All that he wanted was for her to leave with her bookish looks and stuffy attitude so that he could sleep for days, years, and centuries maybe.

"That's good." He sipped his wine, staying as collected as he could.

"Yes." She smiles softly and mimics his sip. "I thought so."

Her fingers go through the paper, tracing out the names of items that have been sold and reading out to Draco how much they went for. Finally, there is only one left that he knows of. He is surprised she hasn't mentioned it beforehand.

"The family portrait…" she says, but trails off.

It's not been sold; he can hear it in his voice. He doesn't want to take it, even though he doesn't see why anyone would want it. It's of his family, the notorious Death Eater family, betrayers of the Potter nation.

"It sold for 85000 pounds."

His heart stops. The wine glass tips out of his fingers and onto the ground. Quicker than humanly possible, Granger is on the ground, catching the glass and putting it u near hers.

"Get me some club soda and a towel, quickly."

Numbly he is somehow moving, fetching the items from her and watching her press the towel over and over onto the spot. Then, as if in a dream, he folds his hand over hers as she presses down firmly.

Her little hand is easy to encase, and it is warm, radiating heat. The heat spreads up through his arms and legs, up his chest and into his mind. His brain is foggy with the heat as his other hand takes her face and pulls it to him, his lips crushing into hers like a wave.

His other hand leaves the top of hers and he regrets it immediately. He is cold and wanting of her heat. It moves almost without his knowing, into her hair, her long and soft hair, the heat returning instantly. The heat awakens him, nourishes him, and revives him. It makes him forget that his parent's bed, possibly where he was made is now gone, along with the only family portrait they ever had done. The picture of him as a baby snuggled in his father's arms, his mom and his father looking down at him with love on their faces. He should have kept it and he fights to break their lips apart and ask her where it is now going.

It doesn't matter though. All he knows, all he feels, is Granger.

She fights a little and his hand moves to the small of her back, pulling his to his chest, firmly enclosing all space between them and preventing her from pulling back.

His teeth bites down on her lower lip and all of a sudden she melts into him. Her hands go to the back of his neck, one of them pushing up through his hair and sending shivers down his spine. A moan escapes her lips and he can feel himself getting hard. This is a dream, this isn't real, but it feels so real.

He lowers her onto her back, pressing down onto her. His dick it touching her stomach through his pants and he can barely stand it. Now his hands are moving down her body, pulling a little at the fabric of her clothing, and pushing up, lips snapping at each other in a silent argument and hair tangling in a mixture of white and brown.

And then she is pushing him and standing up.

"Stop!" she whimpers. "Stop, please stop."

She repeats it like a mantra as he looks up at her, a hand still tangled in her dress. She pries him loose and straightens her outfit.

"Hermione, I-"

They both stop at the sound of him using her name-her _real_, first name. He has made a mistake and invoked an intimacy that they didn't haven.

"Well, I think I'm done here. I'll leave the sheet with…the information and you can always, Uhm, send me an owl if you have any more questions." She emphasizes the word question, as if he'd send her an invitation to have sex with him.

"Granger, look-"

"Thank you for dinner."

And then she was gone.

** ooo**

Her mind is in too many places. It has been, for a few days now. Harry is sitting on her couch, chattering about something and all she can think is that she _made out_ with Draco Malfoy.

"He said my name." she blurts out, interrupting him.

"What?"

She looks at Harry and his green eyes are sparkling with excitement. He is happy for this New Year because he and Ginny are expecting a baby in February. The New Years party is almost as much of a celebration for their little boy as much as it is for the year to come.

"Malfoy. He said my name."

"Yesterday?" he is focusing now, leaning foreword in his position and staring at her.

"Err, yes." Now she doesn't want to be here, in this small room, discussing Malfoy. She doesn't want to have to tell Harry about what had happened before he said her name.

"Well. That was…polite."

He shrugs a little and she sees that he doesn't care as much as she had originally thought that he would. He continues into his lecture about how she _can't_ forget the candles and to remember to practice getting them all into the ceiling. It's crucial that the whole ceiling be covered with lit candles, lighting the room like fairies.

"Yes, yes." She agrees, barely listening.

She is thinking about how Malfoy's long fingers had wrapped around her back, his firm chest slamming into her soft one. She had worried that her soft and slightly rounder stomach would be a turn-off, but she had felt how hard he was…and how long.

"Are you listening?"

Her eyes go onto Harry's face again and he is frowning now, not as excited.

"Yes, Harry. The candles."

"No, no." he stops her. "Not the candles. The drinks. Are you bringing the drinks still?"

"Right. Yes; the firewhisky and the Butterbeer. Got it."

"Don't forget the Butterbeer, ok? Ginny can't have alcohol."

She nods and once again lets the chatter start up. She pretends to listen for another five minutes before interrupting.

"Can I invite him? She asks.

"Invite who? Malfoy?" he is genuinely amazed at her proposal.

"Well…yes. Malfoy."

"Why in the hell would you want that?"

"He's lonely, Harry. Two days in a row he had me over there, and it didn't seem like I was interrupting a busy schedule or-"

"And that's _his_ problem, not ours."

"Would you really want your child growing up with a father who can't let go of the past?"

He mumbled a few profanities under his breath, seemingly aimed at her before nodding grudgingly.

"Thank you."

**ooo**

At first he was so crazed with lust that he actually _did_ consider owling her for company. He forced himself to stay under control, and the urge eventually went away-after masturbating a few times in the shower.

So he was surprised when he received an owl from none other than Granger over breakfast a few days later. The owl was a beautiful shade of red and looked a lot like the one Potter was said to have.

"I'm absolutely not in the mood today." He grumbled to himself before untying the letter from the owl's leg.

The owl screeched sharply into his ear and then flew out his open window.

Scowling, he opened it with nimble fingers, slipping the parchment out of the envelope and reading the message inscribed.

"Holy shit."

**ooo**

Her dress felt like silk under her fingertips. The material was easy to grab and she pulled it up, letting it fall back down, a tumbling tower of purple cloth.

Appraising her appearance, she tried to be objective about the whole picture. It was easier that way. If she singled out something, like her hair (which seemed extra busy tonight) or her eyebrows (plucked too thin to be normal) then she'd fall to the ground in despair.

But if she looked at her image with squinted eyes, or with one eye shut, then she could feel a little better about it. The purple dress brought out the natural blonde tint in her hair, making it shiny instead of frizzy. Her eyes were highlighted with flecks of bright green and her skin looked soft in the haze of Harry's house.

It shouldn't even matter; she tried to reason with herself. Who was she trying to impress? Her friends from school? The people she worked with? Family?

Her mind flicked to a picture of Draco, dressed nice and looking at her with flirty approval. It almost killed her. Why should he matter? He was a piece of crap human being and she didn't want to deal with him. She invited him out of pity, not attraction or, God forbid, interest.

And yet, when Harry walked by the bathroom and did a double take before smiling and continuing on, she smiled and smoothed her dress, ready for whatever the night would bring.

**ooo**

Only Potter could get away with a party like this. His house, which was moderately big yet modest, was full of people that _should_ be there. There were photographers, taking pictures of little china dolls on cabinets and wine glasses tipping in up-and-coming wizard's hands.

Draco grabbed a champagne glass off of a table that had little cheeses and celery next to a tub of ranch. It was all so…Muggle.

The glass was drained quickly, the contents slipping down his throat. The champagne was fruity and tasted expensive. Frankly, it tasted like something that he would have been serving at his own party in the Manor.

Except…the Manor wasn't his anymore. Draco lived in an apartment with clean and inexpensive furniture. He drank off-brand coffee in the morning and had meetings once a year with Granger.

He grimaced and tightened his grip on the empty glass. Granger was the one who invited him here, for God knows what reason. It was because of her that people, who didn't necessarily want him around them, if they had even noticed him at all, surrounded him now.

He cast his eyes above the majority of the crowd, swaying in and out of the dancing couples like a solo competitor. He searched for the familiar frizz and caramel skin, but he couldn't find her anywhere.

"Draco?" a hand was on his shoulder, a light touch that almost came off as a suggestion.

He turned. Instead of the hair curling about small ears, eyes that caught the light sharply and a thin figure, a very pregnant Ginny with long red hair stood looking up at him.

Her hands were resting on her huge belly, making small movements around the middle and edge. It was slightly hypnotic and he imagined it making soothing whooshing voices for the baby inside of her, easing it into sleep.

His eyes started to close a little, but snapped open when he remembered where he was.

"Weaslette." He drawled with less energy than usual.

"I'm glad you could come." She said honestly.

He raised his eyebrows and refrained from letting his mouth drop unattractively. She couldn't have _truly_ been happy to see him in her home. His Aunt murdered her brother…he almost killed her husband multiple times. He never pretended to be in her good favor, but it pleased him a little bit that she seemed to be welcoming him.

"I'm…happy to be here."

An awkward silence settled between them and he tried to pull words from someone else's conversation to bring into theirs. One group was discussing the new Headmaster at Hogwarts. It was a woman…she seemed to be doing a good job from what he could hear.

"Have you seen Hermione? She looks lovely tonight."

A twinkle was in her eyes; as if she knew a secret that he did not.

"Oh. No, I just got here."

"I think she's downstairs at the bar, with Luna."

He looked down for a moment and when he fixed his gaze back on Ginny, she was waiting on him to answer her, or…make a decision.

"Well then, I'll just go and…" he gestured in the direction of the basement where the bar most likely was. She nodded at him and turned to find someone else to pick on.

For a moment, his heart beat in an uncontrolled and uncomfortable manner. He didn't want to go and find her because finding her might mean finding something in himself as well. It didn't make much sense, this feeling, but it resided heavy in his limbs, dragging him down like lead.

He shook it off, thinking himself stupid, and walked down the stairs. The walls surrounding the stairwell were lines with moving photographs of Ginny and Harry, getting married and their adventures. It was strange to think of them as old, especially since they weren't, but Draco only associated parenthood with old people. They were having a baby, and this was the end of youth in his opinion.

He saw her immediately, exactly where Ginny had said she would be. She was on the seat of the bar furthest to the left, and Luna was talking eagerly to her, blonde waves encasing both of them.

Granger looked happy to be talking to her, something he didn't remember often. Luna had the ability to make others uncomfortable and he couldn't recall many a memory of someone being happy and fortunate looking while talking with her.

But she wasn't a bad person. Draco remembered a time, when they were both fourth years, when Luna had helped him fix his hair in between dances at the Yule Ball. He was upset about something, his parents most likely, and she had crept up behind him and aided him in the sticking charm required to have his hair completely back.

"Thank you." He had murmured, unsure of how she even knew the charm.

"You're welcome." She whisped in return, dancing off by herself.

Now, they seemed to be discussing something about a happy matter and he took pleasure in simply watching them.

Granger turned and saw him, doing a small double take before standing and moving in his direction. She touched Luna's hand, mumbling something before they both nodded and went apart from each other.

She was smiling a wide smile at him and it unnerved him. Why should she be so happy that he was here? He was nothing, really. And they hated each other…right?

**ooo**

Hermione looked at Malfoy with the most off-putting eyes that she could muster. It was a foolish attempt, and she knew it.

He looked handsome-more handsome than he had ever looked before. Just the sight of him, dressed in a black v-neck, tight on his sinewy muscles and gray slacks that were neatly pressed, his hair without oil and falling a little over his ears in an almost shaggy way, pierced her. She felt warmth all over her body, but she tried to attribute it to good circulation in Harry's house.

"You came!" she breathed, and then mentally kicked herself. _We hate each other_, she scolded herself.

"Yes, well, I thought I'd stop by…" he trailed off and looked up.

Suddenly she realized how stupid it was to invite him. They had nothing to say to each other…they didn't even like each other.

"Do you want a drink?" she offered.

He smirked at her, and nodded a little bit. She led him over to the bar and stepped behind it.

"What do you have?"

"Well," she breathed, "I'm afraid I'm not very good at mixing things. But we do have several different types of wine, and some firewhisky as well."

"I'll take a bottle of firewhisky."

"A _bottle_?"

He grinned wickedly.

"Come on, take a bottle and let's go outside."

She blinked, his face disappearing and reappearing rapidly. She had to make a decision quick, and so she grabbed the bottle of firewhisky that was meant for all guests, and then walked briskly upstairs, not even waiting to see if Malfoy was following.

Outside was miserable. Rather than being an ideal winter with snow and flakes falling from the sky, London was once again raining heavily, casting a gray gloom across the landscape. Hermione sat down on the chair near the porch steps and grasped the bottle in her fingers.

Malfoy came out next, sitting next to her but keeping his distance. A quiet hummed between them.

Then, casually, he held out his hand and she put the bottle in it. He opened it with a loud pop and they both leaned back a bit as sparks went into the sky and fizzled out like a popped balloon.

He tilted his head and took a deep swig, right from the bottle. He winced and then wiped his lip with the back of his hand. Hermione grabbed the bottle from his lap and mirrored the image. They repeated this a few times, still silent but listening intently to this silence. At least…she was.

His profile was immensely attractive. Honestly, it couldn't get any more beautiful if he tried. His nose, which had once seemed too turned up for the rest of his face, now fit him almost perfectly. He had a high forehead, but a good head of hair curling around it. And his eyes…even from the side their intensity went deep inside of her. She remembered for a second how they looked above her and she shivered in unrequited pleasure.

Finally, the silence was too much for her to bear.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I imagine you will anyway."

She bit her lip and twisted the neck of the bottle in her tightly gripped hands. Maybe she should leave the personal questions for his friends…if he even had any at this point.

"Is it hard…being alone?"

He turned to face her slowly, his eyes holding a cluster of emotions she wasn't familiar with before settling on one that she _was_.

"Sometimes, and if you tell anyone this I will cheerfully club you to death with this empty bottle, I'd rather die than be alone."

She took in a sharp breath and then drank another swallow of firewhisky. It burned less the more that she drank.

"Ok." She responded, deciding not to press him further.

"Is it ever hard never getting to be alone?"

Tiny pangs resound in her chest, causing her heart to quicken slightly.

"I'm alone sometimes."

"Right." He nodded and took the bottle from her gently and drank a couple sips. The bottle was halfway finished. "Which is why, once a year, you loathe coming to see me."

"Your loneliness has nothing to do with hating visiting you." She says before clasping her mouth in horror. Being slightly drunk had a truthful effect on her mannerisms.

"Ouch, Granger." He put his hand over his heart. "That hurts." He grins and offers her the bottle. She takes it but doesn't sip for a couple minutes. "And actually…it has everything to do with it."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Do explain, please." She bites, feeling a bit sour all of a sudden.

"I am mostly comfortable in my…situation. But my loneliness is overwhelming to you. You pity me, and it makes you so uncomfortable that you hate being anywhere near me."

"That is _not_ true."

"Enlighten me."

"I…" she rubs her forehead tiredly. The ache that always forms when they start to argue, builds up behind her eyes and grows like a tumor. "It's just…"

"Go on. Say it."

"No, I'm just…"

"Say it. Be honest for once."

"Can you just-"

"Say it."

She stands and smashes the bottle on the ground. Sparks fly everywhere and burning liquid hits their skin in droplets.

"You're a fucking asshole. That's why I hate being around you, you twat!"

She stands in front of him, fuming and wanting to wipe his satisfied smirk off his face with her knuckles. He seems so _pleased_ that she hates him and it confuses her.

"Why are you smiling, you prick!"

He stands and now they are very close. He puts his hands on the sides of her arms and squeezes softly.

"If you hate me, it'll be easier for me to walk away."

"Excuse me?"

Her heart is beating so loud that it might shatter her other organs. He is touching her and the heat is too intense for her to handle. She almost collapses before he speaks again.

"The thing is, Granger, I think I could fall in love with you."

Her heart explodes and her vision starts to spot. There is no way that he actually said what she thinks that he said.

"Wha-how? I mean-"

"It's a very curious thing, Granger. I don't quite understand it myself. But I suppose that now is as good a time as any to tell you that even in rain, you look beautiful to me. And it's not just your hair or your eyes, it's your smell, a sweet caramel like your skin, and the way you scrunch your nose when you're mad. These things, individually, don't make much sense to me, but I'm telling you that altogether I could fall in love with you."

She can hardly breathe. These words belong in someone else's mouth, or at least aimed at _somebody_ else.

"I don't understand."

"Sure you do." He says firmly. "You invited me here, didn't you? So the feeling is mutual then. And it's also a mistake."

A bit of anger flares up inside of her then. The one thing that Hermione Granger does _not_ make is mistakes.

"How dare you."

Now it is his turn to be surprised. He looks down at her and his grip tightens. His gaze is unsure if the touching is ok, and for a second she contemplates kneeing him in the balls. He makes her _so mad_. Not just sometimes, but all the time.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, _oh_. It's perfectly fine for you to stand there and to tell me that _your_ feelings are…are, "unnecessary." And if you want to feel like you're heading into the deep end, then ok. But don't you dare presume to tell me how I feel, or that my feelings are…discountable."

"You're not making much sense." He grumbled.

So she kisses him. Because sometimes things _don't_ make sense, and the only way to figure them all out is to do something that is equally as confusing. That way, maybe, while you're all jumbled up, you can find someone to be jumbled up right with you.

Her hand touches the fuzz on the back of his head, right in the middle of his soft blond hair. It's amazing, but in that kiss she can see how different they are. She can feel lust and heat, definitely, but there is an undercurrent of hatred and anger. It puts space between them that will never be able close or change.

So she pulls back and they are both wide-eyed and unsure.

"Should we…"

"Yeah."

They sit back down. The earth is giving off a smell that only happens after rain. It is dry and smells like all of the tears in the world combined. But not sad tears, happy tears; tears that wash the ground and make things grow.

Only now, the silence isn't as wanted and pleasurable. It feels dry, like being dehydrated for days. She coughs a bit and he awkwardly raises his hand, as if he were going to touch her.

"You know, I don't hate visiting you." She remarks thoughtfully. He gives a strangled sound.

"I don't mind having you." He admits quietly.

She bites her thumb, chipping off a bit of her nail. She actually painted them purple only a week ago, and they are still in tact, minimal chipping.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Is it going to offend me?

"Why didn't you take the house? After your parents died, I mean."

"Wow." He exhaled a long breath and looked at her. "Not a lot of tact instilled in you, huh Granger?"

"I'm just curious, no need to be so sensitive."

"Fine." Drumming his fingers on his knees, he looked anywhere but at her. Finally, he spoke. "The thing is, Granger, not everything is as perfect as you think it is. Most everyone thought that my Mother, Father and I were all very close. But during the war, my father resented me a lot for not doing more towards the Dark Lord. We had a falling out, and he started beating me instead of my mother. And eventually, I grew tired of it. I went off on my own and the next thing I know they're dead."

She grimaced, unsure of how to look at him or what to say.

"But all of your things…I mean, you grew up there."

"Things are just things, Granger. Don't be so sentimental."

"I wasn't being-"

"I don't need chairs and beds to make me happy. And I certainly don't need to live in a _mansion_ when there will never be anyone but me."

"Surely you don't…I mean, there will be…"

"Are _you_ going to love me, Granger?"

"Don't." she mumbled and looked away.

"Just kidding. Anyway, they left the house to me. Which is typical because my father _knew_ I wouldn't want it and so it becomes his last sort of 'fuck you!' I couldn't even step foot in the house without seeing his smug face."

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He looked so vulnerable…smooth, like a statue. Her hand found his and she laced their fingers together. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw one corner of his lip turn up, but she couldn't be sure.

A sudden sound from inside pulled them apart. Hermione managed to stand up and move away from Malfoy before Neville burst out.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed. "There you are!" his hand was holding a cup, overflowing with Butterbeer.

"Yes, uhm, hi Neville."

He grabbed onto her with his free hand and pulled her away. The last she saw of Malfoy, he was looking at her in a pleading way…a "please stay" sort of way.

**ooo**

It was dark, which unnerved him a bit. The first night of the new year and it was black as the inside of a coffin. Black as the final thing you'll ever look at; the back of your eyelids.

A shadow came across from the doorway quickly, before he even realized it. A shape hit the bed and he shoved at it instinctively.

"Ouch!" came a voice.

"Hermione?"

He turned on the light and saw her face, right in front of his. His heart started thumping in his chest.

"What are you _doing_ here?" he sat up, pushing a hand through his hair sleepily.

"I…" she was doing that thing she always did. Starting sentences and waiting for him to finish them.

"You…"

"Well, Draco. The thing is, I've decided that I _don't _think I love you."

"Ah." He nodded. "Well if that's it, I'd like to go to-"

"I know I love you."

"You-I'm sorry, Hermione, this is-"

"You're calling me Hermione." A bright smile, all teeth displayed.

"You called me Draco."

"People who love each other should be able to call each other their real names."

"You love me, then."

"Yes."

He let out a deep sigh, just wishing she'd leave. This "love" was ridiculous. The only thing that made sense between them was hate, anger and spite.

"It's a mistake. We're bad for each other, you know."

"I didn't say I was _in love_ with you, Draco; that you have to earn. But," she grinned, "I think you can do it."

His head was full of too many emotions. How was he supposed to love something, let alone this wild haired girl from his childhood? He couldn't. He had come to that conclusion before the party and had gone to go and tell her that.

But then, she was in front of him, drinking from the same bottle of firewhisky and tossing her curls about her face. She had been so beautiful and he only knew that if he were around her, he wouldn't stand a chance. She would eat his heart alive, he could just tell.

"This is a bad idea."

"I know."

"We won't work together."

"Probably not."

"And you're ok with that?" he expected her to leave then. Instead she moved closer.

She kissed him and then got under the covers. Her head curled into his neck, closing her eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered on his skin, sending goosebumps down his arms.

"Can you turn off the light?"

In the darkness, Draco was unsure of what was to come next. He wasn't sure of how he got to where he was, or how this woman was pressing her warmth into him. He didn't know if she'd be there the next night, or the one after that.

But that was the beauty of it, right? Love was a leap into the darkness. It was turning off the light and getting under the covers with someone who was maybe right for you, maybe not, and hoping that for the next couple hours you wouldn't have to figure that out alone.

**A/N: ****Maybe this isn't how it is for everyone, but for me there is no higher compliment than taking time to review my story. I spend many sleepless nights brainstorming and writing, and your thoughts are the only reward that I get for it. **


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